


Cancel All Your Meetings

by Xachyn



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: GrePreWeek, M/M, Soulmates, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xachyn/pseuds/Xachyn
Summary: “Soulmates,” He repeated, the offending word tasting salty on his tongue, like a rotten joke.“That’s right,” Laurent responded, all self-satisfied with no regard at all for Makoto’s current state of being.“Soulmates,” He echoed, because his brain was still refusing to accept that somehow, Laurent really had taken him on a joy ride across Paris to sit down in a tiny coffee shop somewhere in Grenelle only to start waxing lyrical about how the two of them must be soulmates. It was Laurent’s latest attempt at convincing him to stay with the crew, and Makoto is certain - insistent - that the towering facade of the Eiffel Tower seen from the large window next to them and smoochy couples around them were all a convenient coincidence.
Relationships: Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 21
Kudos: 247





	Cancel All Your Meetings

Makoto stared at Laurent’s face, tracing the features gleaming with smugness, with nary a shred of shame for the kind of absurd proclamation that had just left his mouth. Makoto blinked once, twice, his head still making sense of what Laurent had just said, the noisy din of the cafe they were sitting in quietening to a distant echo. Laurent was still leaning against the table, face propped up against his fist in confident anticipation. His clear eyes betrayed not even a hint of irony.

Makoto put his half-empty coffee cup down, unsure if he would be capable of going through this conversation without smashing something. He resisted the urge to scowl, having (off-handedly) promised Cynthia to be slightly less abrasive (as a losing bet).

“Soulmates,” He repeated, the offending word tasting salty on his tongue, like a rotten joke.

“That’s right,” Laurent responded, all self-satisfied with no regard at all for Makoto’s current state of being.

“Soulmates,” He echoed, because his brain was still refusing to accept that somehow, Laurent really had taken him on a joy ride across Paris to sit down in a tiny coffee shop somewhere in Grenelle only to start waxing lyrical about how the two of them must be soulmates. It was Laurent’s latest attempt at convincing him to stay with the crew, and Makoto is certain -  _insistent_ \- that the towering facade of the Eiffel Tower seen from the large window next to them and smoochy couples around them were all a convenient coincidence. 

Laurent nodded with unreasonable patience.

“You-” Makoto started, then paused, taking a deep breath, “You realise that there’s no such thing as soulmates?” 

Laurent’s expression barely shifted, “But my little soybean!” he exclaimed with his typical flair for the dramatic, “How else would you explain all the times that we’ve run into each other?” 

Makoto was glad the coffee cup was out of his hands at the moment - it was ceramic and handmade and sure to be very expensive - and shook a finger at Laurent’s face. 

“What are you talking about, you crazy bastard? That was all you! Every single one of them was due to you and your,  _your schemes!_ ” 

Laurent burst into laughter, slow and deep, and Makoto realised belatedly that he had started yelling, the eyes of a dozen other cafe customers cast in their direction, the previous noise paused to an abrupt halt. He was also standing, for some reason. Makoto settled back in his seat, face red with both embarrassment and anger, and waited until the lull passed and the cacophony of cafe sounds returned to fill the space between them. 

God, he had never wanted to punch Laurent this bad, and he’s frequently come close in their short acquaintanceship. 

He picked up the cup and drained the rest of his coffee, now lukewarm from playing audience of one to this twisted game Laurent was trying to pull him into. It was a very nice cup, with the way it fits perfectly into his hands, and he was sooner soulmates with this cup than Laurent  _fucking_ Thierry. 

“I don’t understand you at all,” Makoto declared, eventually, when the couple next to them got up to leave and he’s spent too much time turning the cup around in his hands, “And I don’t think you understand me either.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because!” Makoto snapped, “Because you keep dragging me back into this shit regardless of what I say!” 

“And why do you think that’s that?” 

“Because you have no respect for me at all!” 

“Do you really think that?” 

“Well- I-” Makoto stumbled in his accusation because, frustratingly, it was far more nuanced than that. He did enjoy seeing the way Sam Ibrahim crumbled. He did enjoy the way James Coleman squealed outside the gates of Fara Brown’s home after she had cast him aside. The truth was that he did take some (huge) pleasure at seeing shitty people get their comeuppance. The truth was, after all, that there was a distinct and profound allure to the way Laurent did things, and that Makoto never would have seen the things he did or gone to the places he had over the last few months, if it wasn’t for the bastard. 

“Maybe I know you better than you know yourself,” Laurent said cheerfully, “And besides, have you forgotten that you were the one that clung on to me so stubbornly that you travelled halfway across the world to stay by my side?” 

“Don’t twist the situation like that! And that was years ago!” Makoto snapped, halfway between shame and annoyance. He liked to think that he’d long abandoned that claim of being Japan’s top con artist, and it was mortifying to have his memories of those days shoved into his face like that. And fine, maybe Laurent did have an uncanny read on him, but still. 

“My favourite memory,” Laurent replied solemnly.

Makoto jabbed a finger at him, “And what about you? Why are you so, so, so fixated on-” he waved a hand around, between them, over himself, vaguely, because he wasn’t thick-skinned and shameless like Laurent was and there were obviously things that remain taboo for verbalising, things too embarrassing and raw to be said.

“Because I think you’re cute.” 

“That’s what Abbie says,” Makoto said, recalling the way Abbie enunciated every word with sheer derision, her general disgust at Laurent’s horniness, and frankly, a bit disappointed that that was all it was. 

Laurent tilted his head in thought, “Were you hoping for more?” 

“ _No._ ” 

Laurent grinned, a smirk that made Makoto instantly regret everything at once, “I think it’s cute how badly you wanted to be a ‘bad guy’. I think it’s cute how kind you actually are and how innocent you can be. I think it’s cute how much you want to do the right thing. I think it’s cute when you’re determined to see things through. I think it’s cute when you want to help others. I think it’s cute when you want to put a smile on someone’s face. I think it’s cute-” 

“Oh my god shut up,” Makoto shot quickly, hand held up to silent Laurent, his ears and neck burning and he’s determinedly trying to not hide his face even though he so desperately wanted to bury himself in a hole, “Don’t patronise me like that.” 

“I promise you that I’m not,” Laurent smiled, eyes full of mirth. 

“Your promises are meaningless,” Makoto snapped, waspish, preferring to think of himself as immune to Laurent’s honeyed words, against the evidence of his too-fast beating heart, the red blush across his skin that must be clear as day. He doesn’t pull away, though, when Laurent leaned in across the tiny table, coming so close to his own face that Makoto could count every faint freckle.

“I think I see a little bit of myself in you-”

“ _Gross._ ”

“-And I think you make me want to be a better person.” 

Laurent smiled, bordering on sincere. Makoto groaned. 

“How are you so shameless?” 

“Shame is an inhibitor. I prefer to live life to my heart’s desire.” 

Makoto wrinkled his nose. 

“I think we could be good for each other,” Laurent continued, “I think we are.” 

There’s an argument, somewhere, to be made about corrupting young minds and influencing good citizens towards unlawful behaviour, turning upstanding men into criminals. Once upon a time, he thought of the world strictly in black and white, of people divided neatly by the rule of law into good and bad, until all of that had since crumbled away and he’s left to make sense of the world alone. 

And to be fair to Laurent, he never did call Makoto out for reneging on their bet in Los Angeles, gracefully accepting a draw even though Makoto knew deep down he was absolutely indebted to Laurent for his logistical foresight. 

Maybe that was the whole point that Laurent was making with this ridiculous notion of _soulmates_. That it was all a series of choices, and Laurent had somehow,  _somehow,_ chosen Makoto as his soulmate and was now making his decisions clear for him to read with unambiguity. Like a blindfold lifted from Makoto’s vision, making every sign suddenly obvious, every action suddenly meaningful. It’s a thought that left him hot and overwhelmed, like standing in the embrace of the sun in the middle of a heatwave.

“Well,” Makoto said slowly, not at all playing hard to get, “I’m not convinced. You’ve got to prove it.” 

Laurent beamed, genial and warm, “I think I can do that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Laurent: I think this is called a gap moe  
> Makoto: WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT
> 
> \---
> 
> 'quick warm-up' piece for grepreweek 3 prompt: h/c OR soulmates that ended up causing me angst all day. anyway I'm sure there's a ton of mistakes but don't tell me I can't put my eyeballs on this anymore I'm exhausted 😫
> 
> title from the default dropbox paper header don't read too deeply into it
> 
> cheers to @kittykittyhunter for saving my skin and basically figuring out my ending for me so I can go to bed


End file.
